Wanderings
by takingoffmyshoes
Summary: There are many roads. Some are gentle, some are merciless; some are fruitful, some are barren. But curse it all, why must so many of them be wet? A series of drabbles and other short pieces on the topic of wandering, wherever one's feet may take one. (Featuring our favorite Dunedain duo, but with appearances by other characters.)
1. Inclement

It was the height of autumn. The arching branches overhead were wreathed with shades of deep russet and rich gold, and the air held the crisp tang that promised cold weather to come. A wind sprang up and skittered through the leaves, whipping them into a frenzy that was heard from the north long before it was seen. With blue skies and the warmth of the sun, it would be a perfect day.

"It is hailing, isn't it."

"It is not obvious?"

A sigh.

"Come now, Halbarad. Are you truly surprised?"

Another, deeper sigh: "Alas, I cannot say I am."


	2. Trying

"Mr. Strider!" The call came from the rear of their small column, where Sam was lagging further and further behind, and brought the whole company to a halt.

Aragorn made his way back to find the hobbit standing next to Bill and looking quite at a loss.

"What is it, Sam?"

"I think Bill's got a stone in his hoof, sir. He's started limpin', but his legs look fine - though I'm not much familiar with horses, mind you - and I've tried to look, but he won't let me, and-"

"Calm yourself, Sam. Let's have a look together."


	3. Leave-taking

_There_. Marwyn stepped back to admire her work...and stepped back again...and again. Haelwierfan was so large! As if hearing her thoughts, the horse tossed his head proudly, pale mane flowing in the wind. Marwyn giggled at the sight - such preening! - and Haelwierfan lowered his head to snuffle at her hair.

"It's not as pretty as yours," she confided, running her fingers through the thick golden mane.

"If you spent nigh on two hours brushing it, it might be." Marwyn turned to see her father coming toward her, pack slung over his shoulder and carrying his saddle. "You've done a wonderful job, dohtor. He shines like fine silk."

Marwyn looked down, suddenly heavy-hearted, as her father settled the saddle across Haelwierfan's broad back. _What if...?_

A large, callused hand gently cupped her chin, bringing her gaze up to a warm smile and clear blue eyes.

"Worry not, little one," he said softly. "I will come back. Haelwierfan will make sure of it."

Marwyn sniffled. "Take care that his coat doesn't get all full of mud again."

"I'll do my best."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

The name _Marwyn_ is a play on Morwen, who was a famous woman in Rohirric tradition. _Haelwierfan_ is the quasi-Old English result of slamming together _hael_ (or _hǽle_) (safe) and _wierfan_ (return) in a manner that would make any decent linguist cringe. If you are a scholar of Old English and know how to remedy this, please let me know!


	4. Little Things

"It's all about the little things, you know. The smallest detail may determine a man's happiness. The smallest splinter can foul his mood, should he let it, and a single raindrop can ruin his day."

"Odd that we were plagued by both today."

"Hush."

"'Tis the truth."

"And has my mood suffered for it? Here is what I am getting at: the smallest detail _may_ determine a man's happiness, but it does not have to. We are every day surrounded by small details - we must only choose which are of import."

"And which are those, Halbarad?"

"Today? Your company."


	5. Scuttled

Aragorn hauled himself onto the bank just as Halbarad, already ashore, spat out a wad of leaves. The hiss of rain and the rushing of the river behind them did little to cover his exaggerated choking and spitting, but Aragorn was too tired to care.

"Did we lose anything?" he asked, forcing enough volume into his voice to be heard over Halbarad's continued hacking. "Besides our dignity?" he added, before Halbarad had the chance.

"I would say the boat," Halbarad panted back after a pause. "But in truth, I think we made more progress outside of it than in it."

* * *

_I'm still alive! I swear I meant for this to be a regularly updated thing, but then I got pulled into life and other fandoms. Y'all know how it goes. Anyway, I'm going to go back to trying to update at least once a week just to get back into productive habits. I don't think this has a lot of readers anyway, but if you're one, please feel free to give prompts, request scenarios, or just remind me to update. Thanks!_


	6. Sleep

"Are you like the elves, then, in that you don't need to sleep?"

The question was soft and light, meant more to break the silence than to glean any real information, and it won a small smile from Strider. Strider smiled but rarely; to see it was to know that, at least at the moment, all was well.

"No," Strider said, just as quietly, "but my people are long practiced in going without. Yours, I would guess, are not." He added this with a minuscule tip of his head to indicate the pile of sleeping hobbits behind them.

"No," Frodo said wryly. "Sleep is as dear to us as food. But mine has been troubled lately, and whenever I wake I see you, sitting here or prowling in the distance."

"Keeping watch," Strider acknowledged. It was hardly more than a breath. In the still of the dark pre-dawn, every sound seemed unnaturally loud.

Silence fell again between them, as Frodo mulled over the words he'd come here to say. They seemed so simple, but the longer he waited, the more he felt sure that their simplicity was actually foolishness.

It was Strider who broke the silence. "What's on your mind, Frodo?" he asked gently.

Nothing for it now. "I was wondering if you'd like me to take the watch," he admitted. "I know I don't have your skill at it, but if all I'd have to do was wake you up if something went wrong, then I should be able to manage."

Strider didn't look at him, but Frodo thought he could detect another small smile. "I appreciate the offer, Master Baggins," he said, "and the spirit in which it is made. But you will need the rest far more than I. Try to sleep; if you can't, at least rest your body. In the morning, we push for Weathertop."

The name sent a shiver through Frodo that had nothing to do with the chill night air, but he didn't mention it. If there were a chill to be felt, Strider would no doubt feel it as well.

"And you?" Frodo couldn't help but ask.

"I shall manage," Strider said, with an air of finality. "But I thank you, truly, for the offer. Now, I recommend you return to your pile and pass what's left of the night in what peace you can find, for there may be little tomorrow."


End file.
